No Need for Fairytales
by blue3ski
Summary: Post-Comrade and Princess. The Dowager Empress wants to throw Anya a wedding in Paris. Gleb thinks one wedding is quite enough, thank you.


"You're going to get married."

Gleb looked up from his breakfast plate. "I think I've been married to your own granddaughter for more than a year, _Maria. _Unless you're going senile and forgot that."

"Gleb!" Anya admonished from where she was nursing Alexei.

"It's a valid concern," Gleb protested in his defense.

The Dowager Empress – Maria, as he was trying to accustom himself to calling her after Anya had suggested that Alexei probably shouldn't be hearing Gleb refer to his own grandmother-in-law as "old woman" - scowled. "I wasn't speaking to you, _general_ –"

"What Her Imperial Majesty means is that she never did get to give Her Highness away at a proper wedding," Lily interjected quickly.

"We had a proper wedding," Gleb replied stiffly, not liking where this seemed to be going. "There was an official, and legal documents were signed."

"Gleb, don't be an idiot, you know exactly what we mean," Lily responded. "A _real _wedding, with a priest and lovely dresses and music and champagne –"

"You get those at the Neva Club," he pointed out. "Perhaps even the priest."

"We do get some interesting characters in there," Lily concurred.

Anya sat down beside him at Maria's dining room table, having put Alexei down. "Gleb and I are getting a wedding?" He could hear the hope in his wife's voice.

"_Anya –_" Gleb began.

Maria cut him off as though he had not spoken. "Yes, my dear. I have given this some thought, and while you may not wish to be the Grand Duchess, let me give you the kind of wedding I would have always wanted for you."

Gleb put his fork down, appalled, as his mind filled with images of pretentious fancy dress and overly decorated tables, Maria and Lily parading him and Anya around to their royal guests. "Lovely, but I don't want to be presented as the consort of the Grand Duchess Anastasia in some frivolously extravagant affair."

Maria raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not a fool. I am well aware that her identity must remain hidden. The ceremony will simply be for my new lady-in-waiting. Then perhaps a small gathering afterward."

"That sounds alright," Anya remarked.

"How small is this 'gathering'?" Gleb retorted at the same time. "Would there be anyone Anya and I actually know?"

Maria smirked. "Bring anyone you like, general. _If _you can find anyone you actually know in Paris." She smiled at Anya. "It's settled then."

"Wait, that wasn't assent!" Gleb argued. But Maria had already turned away to sip her morning tea, and Lily grinned at Gleb triumphantly as he stabbed at his eggs, teeth gritted.

"Don't worry, Gleb," she quipped. "We'll find you a nice suit."

* * *

Anya found him sulking in Maria's garden later that morning.

"You don't like this idea," she said by way of a greeting.

He huffed in response. "We don't need it."

"We don't," she agreed. "But I want it."

"Anya, it's a waste of time and money. We had a wonderful wedding –"

"Where your superior showed up, discovered me, and had us running like fugitives two weeks later," she pointed out.

He winced. "That aside. I thought you were happy with it."

She took his hand. "I was. I still am. But Gleb, I never thought I'd ever have the chance to be given away as a bride. I never thought I had anyone in my life who could do that for me. Now Nana's here, and I can celebrate us with the family I finally have."

Gleb looked away. There was a pregnant pause, and the air between them was heavy with tension. Gleb's selfishness at refusing to respond clawed at his insides, but he didn't feel inclined to give in on this one. Not this time.

He'd thought their civil wedding to be perfect enough because it had simply been two people, alone in the world, who had found in each other what they were missing. This ceremony Maria was proposing simply served to highlight how unequal he and Anya had become since Paris, and he despised the feeling.

"Gleb. Talk to me," Anya said, breaking the stillness.

"What?" he grumped as he turned back to her, shaken out of his head.

Her brow was furrowed, and he glimpsed her disappointment. "I know that look. You're talking to yourself again. What is it that you don't want to tell me?"

He fidgeted. "It's nothing. You already know I don't like this."

"Why?" she pressed. "It's not just the time and money, is it?"

He thought of his own parents, long gone from his life. He couldn't even bring up the topic of his own father without plunging the entire room into a tense silence. "You're not the only one who had no one at our wedding," he said coolly. "I didn't either, and I have no one now."

Her shoulders slumped slightly as her face softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't think of that."

"Maria celebrates for you, but she does not and will never celebrate _us_," he continued. "This is an event that will not mean anything where I'm concerned."

She bit her lip, and he could see that she didn't want to agree. But she was also unable to refute what he was saying.

"Do you think your parents would have liked me?" she asked instead.

"My father, probably not so much once he found out who you really are," Gleb answered wryly. He tried to imagine telling his father that he was in love with the Tsar's youngest daughter, and cringed. "But I think Mama would," he finished.

Anya exhaled, smiling in relief as the atmosphere lightened perceptibly. "Would she still like me after what I put you through?" she joked.

He pretended to consider it. "You did get me arrested," he quipped. He squeezed her hand. "But I escaped my father's fate because of you," he added seriously.

Anya squeezed back. "And saved my life."

He returned her smile. "Mama would have loved you."

"How do you think she would have reacted if you told her you wanted to marry me?"

He sighed. "I know what you're doing, Anya."

"I am curious!" she argued, even though she looked a little sheepish. "You've never told me anything about your mother."

She made a fair point. "Yes, Mama would be planning the wedding very enthusiastically," he responded, trying not to sound too exasperated.

His mother would have been ecstatic the moment he told her he had met someone – she would never have minded Anya being a street sweeper at the time. Mama always worried about him – worried about the effect his father had on him, worried about the ideals that inspired him, worried about the kind of man he was growing up to be. She had seen the cause slowly begin to consume Gleb from the inside, the same way it had his father, and worried that he would live and die also in the same way.

Mama would have noticed immediately the change his love for Anya wrought in him. And maybe then, she would have died more peacefully than she had. Or perhaps not. Gleb couldn't be entirely sure.

"We wouldn't be able to do much, but she would come up with the best meal she could to celebrate our marriage," he mused. "She would think you're too thin, and insist on moving in so she could make sure you ate more, as much as she could afford to." His mind conjured up an image of Mama and Anya together in a kitchen, and the simple domesticity of it made his chest tighten.

"I would have liked that, I think," Anya responded wistfully.

He sighed heavily. "And she would have wanted to stand witness to my wedding, at least. Even if it means dealing with Maria." He traced Anya's bare ring finger, making his decision.

"Let's get married."

* * *

With his agreement to the ceremony – to her credit, Lily had been waiting for it – the wedding plans had begun in earnest. Lily had promised that he could veto anything he wanted, but he was certain that didn't extend to nearly every selection they were making. And so he was mostly keeping his mouth shut, only protesting when they had wanted to get a new suit. As far as he was concerned, he was in ownership of enough suits. Lily had finally consented to reusing the tuxedo he had worn to the production of Swan Lake, "with a few adjustments." Gleb shuddered as to what those adjustments might be – surely he hadn't put on that much weight in the last few months – but a compromise was a compromise.

A hand waved in front of Gleb's face, making him blink. "You're in an especially good mood today, Vaganov," commented Allard, the policeman who occupied the desk next to Gleb's.

Much as he had in Leningrad, Gleb hadn't troubled himself much with endearing himself to his comrades – his _colleagues_. He had already come in with far too conspicuous an impression – after all, most of them had encountered him for the first time as a suspected assassin – and Alexei's conception had neatly prevented any possibility of forming acquaintances outside of work even if he had wanted them.

Up until now, Gleb had been content with Anya and Lily as his only confidantes, since they were two of the few people who could understand him, if remotely in Lily's case. But perhaps for the first time, he finally needed someone _else_ to understand.

He looked up, allowing himself a sheepish grin. "I really should stop listening to women," he said by way of explanation.

Allard immediately sat down on Gleb's desk, eyes alight with interest, and Gleb hurried to get his papers out of the way before his colleague crushed them. "Trouble with the wife?" he asked sympathetically.

"My…in-laws," Gleb clarified, deciding it was probably easier to lump Lily in there. "They want me and my wife to have a wedding."

"Didn't you already have one?" Allard furrowed his brow. "How many are you supposed to have?"

"We had a civil ceremony in Russia," Gleb replied. "Which I frankly think should be enough. But my wife's family wanted a wedding here." He grimaced.

"Oh, she's the one related to Madame Malevsky-Malevitch, isn't she?" Allard's mouth twisted. "How bad is it?"

Gleb lowered his voice. "_Bad._"

Allard whistled. "Well, there's only one thing we can do." He raised his voice. "Géroux! Durand! Lefèvre! Vaganov needs a drink."

"I do?" Gleb exclaimed. He thought about it for a moment, and shrugged. "I do."

"_Vaganov _is coming?" Lefèvre, two desks in front, tilted his chair back as far as it would go to look at them.

"Finally_,_" quipped Géroux, off to the right.

"I thought he had a baby?" wondered Durand, sitting next to Géroux.

Allard stood and leaned closer to the others. "_His in-laws are planning a wedding for him. He needs our help._"

The other three sucked in their breaths, and Lefèvre's chair toppled over. Then Géroux rose and headed over to Gleb's desk to pat his shoulder amidst Lefèvre's grunts of pain. "And help we will. We're going to the bar."

* * *

Anya had been so overjoyed to hear that Gleb was going out with his coworkers, she had literally pushed him out the door when he'd come home to tell her.

"The food for the wedding is a _disaster, _stay out of the way," she had hissed before slamming the door in his face. Gleb had only been too happy to comply after that.

He had almost forgotten what it was like to have male companions. And a few drinks in, he couldn't for the life of him remember why he had avoided them for so long.

Géroux, as it turned out, had been married for half a decade, and was often dragged to his rich in-laws' for tea every Sunday, where he spent three hours being dressed down for being police. Allard had no intention of settling down at all, preferring his freedom to the shackles of domesticity. Durand, the youngest and Géroux's unofficial protégé, had been thoroughly (possibly excessively) warned about the horrors of both family and commitment, and was frightened by the very idea of children. Lefèvre, the most senior and a widower, had seen enough of the world to want nothing but justice and gin.

Gleb had listened and laughed, relishing in the relative simplicity of their lives and relieved to find that he could sympathize. That he could _understand. _Perhaps Anya and Lily were right. He wasn't as alien as he thought he was, he mused as he nursed his fourth vodka (he had gotten more practice drinking since that episode with Maria months ago).

"Now you, Vaganov, are a mystery," Géroux declared dramatically as he pointed his own drink at Gleb.

Gleb spluttered into his vodka. "Not much to say," he tried evasively. "I have a wife with a elitist family. Like you."

"Not just any elitist family," Allard pointed out. "A _royal_ elitist family. I know you Russians don't do that anymore, but royalty is royalty."

"He's married to a _queen_?" Durand, the only one of the four to not have been around during Gleb's initial arrest, gasped, spilling some of his gin.

"Princess," Gleb corrected without thinking. They goggled at him, and he swore, his fingertips growing cold. "Damn it."

"You mean, your wife is really…" Lefèvre began in a hushed tone. Gleb shushed him in a panic, but one glance at the group told him it was too late.

"She's _not_ a princess…anymore," he tried to explain, suddenly sober.

"Does that mean you're not a prince?" Durand asked.

"No!" Gleb cursed himself – he was never drinking again. "I was never going to be a prince – I hate princes. Also, her grandmother hates me."

"Your grandmother-in-law is – was – the _Dowager Empress of Russia_," Géroux breathed. "And I thought I had it bad."

"Is that why she's throwing this wedding? So she can hate you and your prince-hating self?" Allard suggested.

Gleb considered. "Maybe."

They all sighed and paused to drink.

"Don't tell anyone about my wife," Gleb pleaded quietly after a moment. He hesitated, then went on. "This is life or death for her – and for me."

"Secret's safe with us," Lefèvre responded, his tone serious. "And if you did what I'm thinking you did – you're a good man." The rest nodded, their faces set, Durand's in awe.

Emotion welled up in Gleb's chest. "Thank you." He looked around, and remembered Maria's taunt that there was no one he knew in Paris. Well, now he had _four_.

"Will you all come to the wedding I don't want to have?"

Allard held up his free hand. "You don't have to invite us just because we took you drinking one time and promised to keep an all-important secret, you know."

"The grandmother said I could bring anyone I wanted," Gleb said. "And I want you all to be there. Please. You will be the only guests I actually know."

Géroux nodded in sympathy. "I'll come. What's the dress code?"

"Military uniform, opera-level dress. But wear whatever you want, my wife's family is ridiculous."

* * *

"So I've sent out the invitations to Count and Countess Gregori – they're not _entirely _sure their schedule is open but they'll _try _to find a way to squeeze the event in," Lily was saying to Maria when Gleb entered the Dowager Empress's drawing room the following morning, a slight headache throbbing behind his eyes.

"Of course they will," Maria replied dryly. "They always do, those social climbers."

"I'm sending the last set out with Ilya later today – but do you really think we need to invite Count Leopold?" Lily was almost pleading. "He's a terrible…dancer. And you know how he gets around champagne."

"He rounds out the guest list," Maria responded with a dismissive wave of her hand. "There are enough people for you to be able to ignore him. Now about the champagne –"

Gleb decided it was time to step in. "No, I _really _don't think you _need _to invite Count Leopold, _Maria,_" he drawled loudly. "In fact, you can keep the rest of those invitations, Lily."

Both women turned, and Maria's eyes narrowed into slits. "No, I most certainly think I do, general_. _My granddaughter will not have an empty garden at her wedding."

"There needs to be room for _my _guests," Gleb continued, unable to keep the smirk from forming on his lips.

Maria scoffed. "Don't make me laugh – as if you could. What guests could you possibly have to invite in this city? We are in Paris, not _St. Petersburg._"

Gleb pretended to think, putting a finger to his chin. "I wonder where indeed…oh, only _an entire police station_," he finished triumphantly.

Lily's jaw dropped open, and Maria's teeth clenched. "_The police station,_" she hissed.

"Did you not say I could bring anyone _I _wanted?" he remarked with a grin. "Lily, I need a table to be set aside for my comrades. I presume that removes Count Leopold from the list."

"It…does," Lily admitted, sneaking a glance at the Dowager Empress's irritated face. She looked like she was chewing her tongue.

"Good. I'll leave you to it," Gleb headed for the door in search of Anya and Alexei. Ah, victory…

"Wait!" Lily called out. "You need to come with me, Gleb – your suit has arrived and you ought to fit it before the big day."

Gleb wrinkled his nose, but decided not to protest as he followed Lily into another room. He had had a good morning, hangover aside. He was not going to dampen it by squabbling with Lily over clothes –

"Here you go!" Lily shoved something at him that was most definitely not his suit.

"I thought you said you made _a few _alterations, Lily!" Gleb screeched, aghast.

Lily glanced at the suit for a split second. "Yes. That's exactly what I did. What's the problem?"

"It's not even the same _color,_" he protested.

Lily sighed in exasperation. "Gleb, it's your wedding, not a _ballet. _You have to stand out, not be mistaken for Count Orlov's second cousin's great-grandson. Do you _want _to be mistaken for royalty?"

"Lily, I said I wanted to wear my suit."

Lily shrugged. "It _is _your suit. Do you know how much I had to pay the top seamstress in Paris to fix it? No, you don't want to know."

Gleb gaped at her, almost dropping the suit.

"Alright – if you don't want it, you don't want it. Of course, that means we'll need to get you a new suit –"

"_Lily,_" Gleb very nearly growled.

Lily raised her eyebrows. "Don't be taking that tone with me, _comrade. _Are you trying it on or not?"

Gleb glowered at his now-gray suit. "Fine. Yes. I'm wearing it. And then I'm taking it home so you can't do anything else to it."

As he stormed off to change, he could hear Lily chuckling behind him.

* * *

"Now, don't you look handsome!" Lily exclaimed. Gleb studied himself in the mirror, and despite himself, nodded.

"Her Highness is going to love you in this," she said tenderly.

"I hope so," Gleb replied nervously with a chuckle, fiddling with his collar.

Lily reached up to straighten his bow tie. "You're getting married today. How does it feel?"

"I've been married already, Lily," he reminded her. But he couldn't keep the smile from spreading across his face.

Lily had a knowing smirk on her face. "I knew you'd warm up to the wedding eventually."

"Not that you gave me much choice," he quipped, trying to get his facial muscles under control.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say. Have you got the rings?"

He nodded, pulling the wedding bands out of his trouser pocket and handing them to Lily.

At first, the Dowager Empress had wanted Anya to be given a ring that was a Romanov heirloom. But Gleb had insisted on getting his own ring – it was, after all, one of the main reasons he was going through with the wedding in the first place. To his surprise, Maria had conceded with reasonably good grace. With Géroux's help, Gleb had managed to find simple gold bands in a Paris shop, and on the inside of each, he had had their first wedding date engraved as a reminder.

"You know, I never had children. Or wanted them, really," Lily blurted out. Her voice was thick, and she cleared her throat as she went on. "But this feels like attending my children's wedding. It's lovely." Yanking a handkerchief out of her purse, she began dabbing at her eyes furiously.

Impulsively, Gleb wrapped his arms around Lily in a tentative hug. When he pulled back, he smiled down at her. "Thank you, Lily."

She smiled a watery smile back as she checked her reflection. When she was satisfied, she looked him up and down. "Are you ready?"

He nodded. "I think I am."

They headed out into the Dowager Empress's garden, where the guests had begun to gather. Maria, imposing and regal in a court dress and her tiara, was greeting them, a flute of champagne in hand. Lily patted him on the arm, then went to check on his bride and son in another wing of the house.

Gleb stood where he was, suddenly not knowing what to do with himself – he wished Alexei had been allowed to stay with him instead. Discomfort and awkwardness replaced the excited nervousness he had been feeling only minutes earlier as he scanned the small crowd milling around. He caught no glimpse of his colleagues, and his stomach sank. Perhaps they had chosen not to show after all –

"What on earth are you wearing?" came Durand's familiar high-pitched yelp. Gleb whirled, prepared to greet him, and his jaw dropped open.

Lefèvre was clad in what appeared to be a formal dress uniform. Géroux and Durand were in tuxedos and top hats. Allard was in a pink pinstriped suit with a boater hat perched on his blond hair.

"He said _military uniform,_" Lefèvre replied, sounding exasperated as he gestured to his outfit.

"No, he said opera-level dress," Géroux shot back, waving his top hat. Durand straightened his tailcoat and nodded sanctimoniously.

"He said wear whatever you want! So I…wore whatever," Allard countered. "Look, this is a very comfortable suit!"

"You were _drunk,_" Lefèvre pointed out indignantly.

"So were you!"

Simultaneously, all four of them turned towards Gleb. "Tell them I'm right!" They demanded as he burst out laughing.

Gleb threw his arm around Allard's shoulders. "You're _all_ right," he assured them. "My grandmother-in-law is going to _love _you."

"I don't like the sound of that," Géroux muttered. He nodded at Gleb. "At least _you're _dressed appropriately."

Gleb sighed. "This was once a nice tuxedo. Then Madame Malevsky-Malevitch got her hands on it."

"She has good taste," Allard snickered.

A child's high-pitched laughter interrupted them, and Gleb looked around to see the devil herself, Lily, approaching, his son in her arms. Alexei was clad in a tiny suit, a hat on his head to ward off the sun, and he was happily waving a small silk pouch clenched in his fat little fist. At the sight of his father, he threw the pouch to the ground and stretched his arms out. Obliging, Lily held him out.

Gleb lifted his son into his arms. "I hope those weren't the rings," he quipped as Alexei quickly made himself comfortable against his father's shoulder.

"Don't be an idiot, Gleb – I only let him play with that," scoffed Lily as she bent to pick up the pouch. Immediately, all four of Gleb's colleagues stooped to grab it before she could, but only Allard managed. With a grin, he brushed the grass stains off the silk and handed it to Lily. "Yours, madame?"

"Thanks," Lily drawled as she took it. She gave Allard an appraising look, her eyes lingering on his suit. "Nice outfit."

"I do my best," he answered cheekily, tipping his boater hat as Gleb, Lefèvre, Géroux and Durand stared in consternation.

"You do it very well," Lily replied, fluttering her eyelashes. Gleb closed his eyes in horror.

"He does this a lot," Géroux pointed out.

"I think I'd rather look at the baby," Durand sighed. Alexei peered at Durand with interest, and Durand visibly melted. "Hi, baby!"

Lefèvre leaned closer, and Alexei grabbed at one of the badges on his jacket. "Bless him, he likes my uniform!" Lefèvre exclaimed.

"Alexei likes shiny things," Gleb commented absently, flabbergasted as Lily and Allard continued to flirt. "Don't give him anything you don't want to see thrown at your head eventually."

Géroux tickled Alexei's chin, delighting him. "Lefèvre will be fine, he has a hard head. Alexei, eh?" He raised his eyebrows at Gleb. "Good strong name."

Gleb smoothed the back of Alexei's shirt. "It is," he said softly. "My wife picked it."

"Can I hold him?" Durand suddenly asked excitedly, holding out his arms.

After a quick glance down at his son, who didn't seem to mind, Gleb carefully detached Alexei from his suit jacket. With a seemingly natural ease that was clearly a surprise to Géroux, Durand scooped Alexei up, his boyish face evidently entranced. He didn't even seem to notice when Alexei managed to bat the top hat off his head.

"Oh!" Lily exclaimed, finally looking away from Allard. "That's what I came here to tell you, Gleb. Her Imperial Majesty says you ought to take your place. The ceremony is about to start." She motioned at Durand, who was looking like he might never let go of Alexei. "Uh. Boy. Kid. I'm going to need the baby back, and the rest of you need to take your seats."

"Durand, at your service!" He started to lift Alexei off him, and the baby's face crumpled. "Aw! Don't cry! I'm still here!"

"You know, if you ever needed babysitters, you can always bring him to the station," Géroux suggested wryly.

"Especially if you came along, madame," added Allard, causing the other men to roll their eyes.

"Ceremony – position – let's go," Gleb declared, practically pushing Lily away.

"Alright," Lily began, all business again, "So you'll be going to the head of the aisle, smiling at the guests. Her Imperial Majesty will follow with Alexei, then I will proceed with the rings. Her Highness will walk down after a few minutes –"

Gleb rolled his eyes.

"Consider yourself lucky I like you," Lily quipped. "Her Imperial Majesty wanted the musicians to play you going down the aisle, and seeing as you refused to attend any of my briefing meetings, you wouldn't even be able to contest her."

He cringed at the idea. "Alright. Fine."

"You can always just look at your friends, the one in the pink suit –"

"_Stop._" Gleb held up his hands, appalled. Lily chuckled. "Off you go."

* * *

Standing under the shade of Maria's gazebo, Gleb wondered if he could still go back to Russia. Surely being shot for treason was better than this.

As the music began, the crowd was spending their time glancing around for Maria, fanning themselves in exaggerated motions. Those who did spare a glance his way immediately turned away, evident disdain on their faces. Gleb's friends, who had seated themselves in the third row, looked disgruntled at their neighbors.

The guests rose as Maria made her way down the aisle, regal in silver. Alexei was in her arms, and she wore a cool expression of pride. Lily trailed behind her, her chin up and trembling slightly as she balanced the small satin pillow on which the rings rested, glinting in the afternoon sun. Maria came to the first row of chairs, and as she sat down, Durand surreptitiously slunk forward one row so he was sitting directly behind her and Alexei. A couple of royals in the front row clucked their tongues, but one glare from Lefèvre silenced them. Gleb grinned.

The music swelled, and Anya came into view, clutching a bouquet of pale pink roses to her breast. Gleb's heart leapt into his throat, and the grin slipped from his face.

He had beheld her in white before, on their first wedding night. He had marveled at the sight of her in a gown. But never had he seen her like this.

Gleb had never been one to pay attention to fashion. But the white silk gown Anya wore now seemed to him like the most beautiful dress in the world. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that she was the one in it.

She made it beautiful.

She took another step, and he glimpsed the blue of her eyes beneath the sheer veil that shrouded the rest of her face. They had spent only one night apart since coming to Paris, at Maria's insistence that he ought not to be in the presence of the bride on the eve of the wedding. But he already needed to see Anya again – one night had been far too long. The yearning burned in his chest, swelling and spreading until he had to bite his lip hard to keep the sob from escaping him. But he could not stop the heat reaching his eyes and spilling over down his cheeks. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision – he couldn't bear to miss a single second.

She was stunning beyond belief, and she was his. Even as the tears continued to come, the realization brought a smile to his lips.

She finally reached the end of the aisle, and Maria rose from her seat to greet her granddaughter. Anya bowed, and Maria clasped her hands, all rigid composure gone as wetness stained her face. She nodded at Gleb to lead his bride forward to where the priest stood expectantly. It was the warmest look the Dowager Empress had ever directed at him.

As he took Anya's right hand from her grandmother's, he could see her beaming behind the veil. "You're crying," she whispered, her voice rough.

"So are you," he whispered back, his own smile widening.

The priest began to speak, but Gleb found his attention focused on the angel beside him. He couldn't let his gaze stray from her for long, and neither, it seemed, could she – when he stole a glance and found her eyes meeting his, brazen, the desire to lift the veil almost overcame him.

He forced his hands to stay where they were, tightening his grip on her hand instead. This would not be like the first wedding – the hurried signing of paperwork, the impatient official, Commissioner Gorlinsky's presence. No, this time, they had all the time in the world to delight in the anticipation.

As the priest led them into their vows, Gleb thought of his and Anya's escape to Paris, now more than two years ago. At the time, he had considered the situation a testing of their vows – a test he was not certain he would pass. But as he repeated the words before the minister, he found each sentiment still as true, still as meaningful as the first time. He had passed the test, and they had triumphed. And whether it was two decades, or even two centuries on, he was confident that they would not fail.

His hand shook as it fumbled with the wedding band. Two years they had waited, making do with hats and music boxes, and his nerves seemed unable to function properly now that the moment was here. Relief washed through him and bubbled up into a broad smile as the ring finally slid into its place – a perfect fit on Anya's finger. Anya's small hand guided his own ring onto his finger, far steadier than he had been, and his composure broke yet again, fresh tears spilling over as their vows were at last sealed in gold – gold that had been refined as they had been.

At the priest's behest, Gleb curled his fingers under the edge of the veil, slowly uncovering Anya's face inch by inch. The sight of his wife fully revealed before him stole his breath away, and he paused to drink it in.

"Are you planning to wait until the guests leave to kiss me, Gleb Vaganov?" Anya murmured teasingly, and Gleb needed no further encouragement. Nudging her chin upwards with his finger, he kissed her as though it was their first, and he left the pomp and blare of the ceremony behind him. When the need for air forced them to part, Gleb kept his forehead pressed to hers, unwilling to end the moment just yet, until Alexei let out a whine that instantly made them both look at the crowd.

Lily was sobbing into the back of Alexei's suit, making him squirm with discomfort. Beside her, Maria was sniffling into a lace handkerchief. In the second row, Durand was swiping at his eyes with his sleeve even as he tried to catch the baby's attention. One row back, Géroux was attempting to subtly dab at his reddened eyes with his pocket square, Allard was clapping enthusiastically, and Lefèvre seemed to be studying the roof of the gazebo intently while his chest heaved.

Gleb snorted and Anya laughed, and the spell was broken.

"Later," Anya promised in a low voice. Gleb nodded as he led her down the steps of the gazebo, officially ending the wedding ceremony. Most of the guests began to stand and head to the cocktail tables for more champagne and food.

Anya knelt beside her grandmother and took her hand, her own eyes glimmering. Gleb scooped Alexei out of Lily's grasp before his son could start crying, and patted her on the back.

"I hate weddings," she blubbered.

"This one was entirely your doing, but it's over now," Gleb replied soothingly as he calmed Alexei down.

She sniffed. "You enjoyed it," she pointed out. She paused, her face sorrowful and pensive. "Vlad would have too."

Guilt stabbed white-hot through Gleb's stomach at the mention of Popov's name. In response, he merely sat, nodded silently, and let her lean on his shoulder.

When her moment of grief had passed, she gasped. "Your suit!" He glanced at his shoulder, and was pleased to see that there were tear stains and makeup all over it.

"Isn't that too bad," he quipped cheerfully as Lily hurriedly tried to rub the stains from the cloth with her handkerchief.

"Lily, come with me – we must freshen up and meet the guests," Maria commanded. She scowled at the sight of Gleb's stained jacket, but said nothing more as Anya helped her up from her chair. As the two older women went off to the powder room in the house, Gleb's friends seemed to decide it was a safe time to approach.

"Congratulations," Allard said as he patted Gleb on the back. "You survived!" He turned to Anya, who had come up beside Gleb. "And you look even lovelier than the last time I saw you, madame," he proclaimed as he bent to kiss her hand. "Allard's the name."

Anya flushed and looked sheepish – her last encounter with Allard _had_ involved yelling at his superior. "Anya. And thank you – I'm glad I left a better impression this time."

"For the record, I'd love to see you do that again," Géroux piped up. He extended a hand, and Anya shook it. "Géroux. And this is Durand." He indicated his young protégé, who was hovering awkwardly at his shoulder.

Durand blinked at his mentor. "Uh. Do I have to bow? I've never met a queen before."

"Princess," Géroux, Allard and Gleb corrected at the same time. Anya raised her eyebrows at Gleb.

"They got me drunk," he offered meekly.

"Your husband is terrible with vodka," Géroux replied. Allard nodded in confirmation. "He was singing like a canary."

"I believe that," Anya remarked dryly. "At least I presume he didn't pass out like the last time he took my grandmother on." Allard and Géroux's faces split into identical Cheshire cat grins directed at Gleb, who cringed in embarrassment.

Anya turned to Durand and smiled winningly. "Call me Anya. No, you don't have to bow. I haven't been a princess in a very long time, and I'm not about to start."

"Do I have to kiss your hand? Because Allard did," Durand asked.

"Allard exaggerates," Géroux sighed. "Except about your beauty, madame – he's right about that –"

"I'm a _gentleman,_" Allard pointed out.

Anya laughed. "Shaking my hand will be enough."

Durand cleared his throat. "Nice to meet you, Your Highness!" he squeaked. "You really are very pretty." He fidgeted, then blurted out, "I really like your baby!"

Anya's face brightened. "Thank you! You're very kind. You can come around to see him any time you like." In Gleb's arms, Alexei giggled, and Durand beamed at him.

"Watch out – he'll be there every night now," Géroux warned with a laugh. He motioned behind him to Lefèvre, who had his lips pressed tightly shut and whose chin was trembling. "The one who isn't talking is Lefèvre, by the way. He just needs a moment to collect himself."

"Is he going to be alright?" Anya asked, concerned, as she glanced at Lefèvre and back to Géroux.

"He was widowed some time ago," Géroux explained. "He always gets a little emotional about weddings. It'll pass."

Anya patted Lefèvre's forearm. "There's champagne, if it'll help," she suggested gently. Lefèvre nodded again stiffly, bowed, and went in the direction of the nearest tray.

Allard sighed. "I better go with him before he starts crying at the waiters." He tipped his boater hat. "I'll be back!"

"Well, we could use some champagne too," Géroux decided. He nudged Durand, who was looking longingly at Alexei again. "Give them a minute," he hissed under his breath as he dragged his protégé away.

Alone at last, Gleb led Anya to the small table that had been reserved for them. She sank into a chair with a sigh of relief.

"I love my shoes, but they hurt," she explained.

Gleb lowered himself into the adjacent chair. "Do you want Alexei?"

"Goodness, yes." He tucked their child into her embrace, and she shot him a loving gaze. "And champagne?"

"Alexei _and_ champagne? No," Gleb chuckled. "Wait for Lily. One can have the champagne while the other gets Alexei."

"I'm just going to have _one,_" Anya pleaded.

"Maria would never approve, and you know what it means when _I _agree with her."

Anya sighed. "Fine. Alexei first. Then champagne."

Gleb swept her hair back to kiss her forehead. "I'll get you some food." He got up to look for a server, and from his peripheral vision, he could see his friends talking to some of the royal guests. He had to suppress a shudder, but really, it could be worse. For instance, Allard could be cozying up to Lily again.

When he got back to the table, Lily and Maria had returned as well. He put a plate of finger food down in front of Anya as silence descended. Gleb's normal instinct was to find some biting comment to make, but it didn't seem like the time or place. Maria seemed to be thinking the same thing – her eyes were slits whenever she looked at him, but she made no remarks until Anya had finished eating.

"My dear, have you memorized the guest list?" Maria asked as Anya put down her fork.

"I did, Nana," Anya assured her. "I'll help Gleb." Gleb blinked in confusion, but before he could open his mouth to ask, Anya elbowed him.

"You missed all the meetings," she muttered under her breath. Gleb groaned quietly.

"Good. As we discussed, if anyone asks too many prying questions, politely excuse yourself. Lily, Alexei is in your charge." Leaning on her walking stick, Maria rose gracefully. Anya handed Alexei to Lily and stood as well. Hesitantly, Gleb followed suit. He could only hope this part of the ceremony would go quickly – the thought of making conversation with the royalty was off-putting.

Also, he wasn't sure if some of them might have remembered him punching one of their own in the face when he was last at the Neva Club.

Blessedly, with Maria being the focal point of the first few conversations, he had little to do except to look utterly bored at the discussions of balls and operas and expensive clothes. A glance at Anya, to his delight, showed that she seemed to be having about as much fun as he was. She played her role better than he, sporting the gracious smile of the princess she had been raised as, but the stare behind her eyes was dead and blank.

"Excellent gathering," he quipped in a low voice.

She rolled her eyes. "Hush. We'll be polite, and the sooner we get this done, the better."

As they moved on to the next table, a guest carrying a flute of champagne almost crashed into Anya. She gasped, hands flying protectively to her dress as Gleb moved in front of her on instinct. The guest brushed himself off and checked the contents of his glass. He shot Anya the briefest of looks, then walked off as if nothing had happened.

Anya's jaw dropped open in shock, and Gleb's fist trembled to punch the offender – the urge was only barely kept at bay by the mental reminder that he couldn't pay for any damage sustained to Maria's garden.

"Nana won't mind too much if _I _wreck the garden," Anya murmured in his ear, her voice like steel.

"Please do," he muttered darkly. Anya reached out and snatched a flute of champagne, downing it.

"I can blame it on this."

As though summoned by potential trouble, however, Lily materialized next to them. "Right. Mingling over. Your Highness, come with me – let's have more champagne before you get any more ideas." At Gleb's protesting look, Lily glared back. "We've been blacklisted enough, don't you think?"

Anya exhaled noisily. "You're right. We shouldn't do this here."

"Did he spill anything on the dress, though?" Lily asked in a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes narrowing into a squint. Anya shook her head.

"Good." Lily handed a yawning Alexei over to Gleb and hooked her arm through Anya's, steering her towards the closest server. Gleb was about to follow when he spotted Maria swooping over to the royal who had bothered Anya so. The Dowager Empress's expression was like cold fire, and after a few words, the guest had put down his champagne on the nearest table and, head bowed, headed for the gate. As a woman who seemed to be his wife scurried after him, Maria sniffed in evident disdain. She turned to make her way to some other guests, and her eyes met Gleb's briefly. In unison, they inclined their heads at each other.

Gleb didn't like Maria's methods, but sometimes, he couldn't deny that she was effective. Smirking, he headed back to their table. Hardly the way he would have wanted to be free of socialization duties, but freedom was freedom. And champagne sounded like a good idea now that he had something to celebrate – once his son was asleep, anyway. Which wouldn't take long from the looks of it – Alexei's exciting afternoon was taking its toll, and Gleb could tell he would be out in a minute or two.

Anya looked properly relaxed by the time Gleb reached the table. As he carefully lowered Alexei into the covered bassinet, he counted the number of flutes on the table. Perhaps she was a bit too relaxed, if the look on her face was anything to go by.

He prodded Lily. "I was gone for _minutes_, what happened?"

Lily looked completely unconcerned as she nursed her own champagne. "She needed to calm down. And I say she has a lot of drinking to make up for, between being poor and then being pregnant –"

"_Lily –_"

"Stop haranguing her, Gleb, she's right," Anya cut in, a bit sharply. "Alexei is sleeping, it's our wedding day, and I'm going to enjoy myself." She held up her champagne to him. "So should you."

Gleb considered. She had a very good point. He took the flute from her and sipped.

"They haven't even noticed we're not there," Anya mused, scanning the crowd.

"I don't know, Durand might be wondering where Alexei is," Gleb quipped. He tried to pick out Géroux and Durand's top hats, but they were nowhere to be seen.

She reached out with her free hand to squeeze his. "Do you want to disappear for a while?" she asked in the same low voice she had employed earlier.

Gleb spluttered, almost spitting out his champagne. "You're in a wedding dress, Anya," he hissed, feeling his face heat up.

She shrugged, downing yet another glass – the supply seemed to be never-ending, and Gleb suspected that Lily probably had had something to do with that. "We have enough time."

"You're possibly drunk," he pointed out with effort as his pulse began to kick up.

"I think you'll find that I'm closer to Nana than to you where my ability to hold liquor is concerned," she shot back, blue eyes blazing.

"Someone needs to look after Alexei," he tried again, trying to keep his voice steady as he shot a guilty look at Lily.

"It's going to take a lot more than this to get _me_ drunk," Lily interjected loudly, pointedly not looking at either of them. Immediately, Gleb sat up straight, his ears burning at being overheard.

Anya, on the other hand, seemed nonplussed. "I need to go in for a moment, Lily – will you and Alexei be alright for a while?"

Lily put down her champagne and waved her hands dismissively. "There. Not drinking. Just don't take too long – I want to finish this before sundown."

Anya tugged impatiently at Gleb's hand, and he finally surrendered. "You heard her, Gleb."

* * *

On second thought, Gleb decided, Lily was right about how good the suit looked, if Anya's reaction was any indication. They didn't even make it past Maria's drawing room.

* * *

"Is that our wedding date on my ring?" Anya mused lazily as she tilted it in the light of the sun filtering in from the windows.

Gleb took his own ring off and lined it up next to hers, admiring the engravings side by side. "I wanted to make sure we never forgot."

"As if I ever could," Anya replied, her tone lightly chastising as she leaned her head against his shoulder. "That day was the happiest I could ever remember being in my life."

"Not today?" he teased.

"I do have a prettier dress. And a ring," she concurred jokingly as she replaced it on her finger. "But not even close." She raised her eyebrows at him questioningly. "For you?"

"Not a single day compared to it. Not a single one can now," Gleb assured her.

She ran a finger along his jaw, her face turning serious and creasing with worry as her eyes, wide and fearful, searched his. "Was I worth it, though?"

He blinked at her, baffled.

"Sometimes, I wonder if meeting me was the worst thing that happened to you," she whispered. "In the two years since that day, I've taken you away from your homeland. I left you with nothing and forced you to build a new life in a world you deplore. Now I've made you endure this." She swallowed hard. "I'm afraid the day will come when I push you too far to get what I want."

He broke the gaze, taking the time to slowly slip his own ring back on. Part of him was instantly forming the words of reassurance that she would want to hear. But another part of him wanted to finally lay his soul bare. He had held back for so long for her sake.

"It isn't easy for me, being here," he admitted, staring up at the ceiling of the drawing room. "I dreamed that we would have all of this... in Leningrad. I still dream it sometimes." He bit his lip. "Russia is a bleeding wound that may never heal."

The distant memory of the motherland felt like a knife in his chest, and he clenched his hand into a fist. "It was something Mama had always said about me. I was like a cat – I would sink my claws into whatever I wanted and never let go."

He turned back to Anya, and found her looking down. "I could have stayed in Russia without you, and my life would have gone on, perhaps with some measure of happiness. Everything I wanted."

She trembled at his words, and, heart in his throat, he reached out and lifted her chin. "There was something else she noticed about me. Even if it was something I shouldn't want, I would always find a way to justify it, to make it work. I would have led a simpler life had I not chosen you…but I also know it would have been colorless, in the end."

He cupped her face in his hands. "Anya, you didn't leave me with nothing. You left me with you. You gave me a future with our son. No matter how dark Paris may look to me, I regret nothing – not then, not now. For two years, I've resisted...I've longed for home. But it's time to accept that this is my home now." As he spoke, he felt a bittersweet finality that resonated in his heart – a strange sensation of being hollow and filled at once.

Anya's eyes shimmered with tears, but she seemed determined not to let a single one escape. "I would have stayed for you, if I could," she promised.

"I know." He traced her cheek. "It's enough for me."

She kissed him, sweet and strong and insistent, and Gleb sank into it, losing himself in the strength and security of what they had. As it grew in intensity, Gleb snuck a peek at the window. "How long have we been away?"

Anya tugged at his undone bow tie, her lips quirking in a mischievous smile. "Not long enough."

* * *

"Where have you been?" Maria demanded. "Some of the guests have had to leave!"

"I had to go to the bathroom, Nana," Anya answered innocently. "It was hard in this dress, so I asked Gleb to help me."

Surreptitiously, she straightened her dress. Besides her, Gleb coughed as his hand instinctively moved to smooth his collar. They had been careful to avoid messing up her hair – it would take too much work to attempt to redo.

The Dowager Empress narrowed her eyes at them in suspicion, but couldn't – or didn't seem to want to – press further. Instead, she huffed and turned to Gleb. "You. Your…_comrades_ threatened to have a few of the guests arrested," she said icily.

"Did they, now?" Gleb replied gleefully. "Which one?"

"The handsome one," Lily offered helpfully as he exhaled loudly. "They were making snide comments about his suit."

"It's a very comfortable suit," Gleb quipped to Maria. "They probably should have known better than to insult a policeman's fashion choices."

"_I_ insult your fashion choices all the time," Lily piped up. Maria raised her eyebrows and smirked as she looked him up and down.

"He dresses fine," Anya said, her tone slightly exasperated. She slipped her hand under his coat, resting it on his lower back, and leaned closer against him. He could feel the cool, comforting metal of her ring through his shirt, and he took a deep breath as he looked Maria in the eye.

He supposed it wouldn't hurt to be charitable today. After all, he was in a rather pleasant mood...and as much he hated to admit it, she _was_ the reason why that ring was there today.

"Fine, I'll talk to them," he managed to say with some sincerity. The Dowager Empress blinked, surprise erasing the cold superiority from her features. Wordlessly, Lily handed her a flute of champagne that she downed in a single gulp.

As Lily took a glass for herself, she muttered to Anya, "That good, huh?" Anya flushed, but was not wholly able to keep a small smirk off her face. Gleb closed his eyes in mortification.

"Hey Vaganov, I thought that looked like you!" He heard Allard's calling from behind him. "I, uh, don't think your grandmother likes me very much –" He trailed off with a squeak. Gleb opened his eyes to see his friend frozen, looking like a chastised child as Maria turned the full force of her glare at him. Farther in the back, Gleb could see Géroux grinning broadly as he kept the others from backing Allard up.

"Hi. Your Majesty." Allard held his hands up. "Look, I'm sorry about the arrest thing – I know this is your granddaughter's wedding and that was terribly unsightly of me, but I'm very sensitive about this suit –"

Maria interrupted him. "How did you know she is my granddaughter?"

Allard stopped talking, and all eyes turned to Gleb.

"So, 'I refuse to be presented as the consort of the Grand Duchess Anastasia in some frivolously extravagant affair'," Maria repeated, soft and mocking, and he winced.

"Nana, there was vodka involved," Anya spoke up. "You know how he gets."

"Best spy in Russia, huh?" Lily remarked.

"If I may," Lefèvre cut in quickly, clearly well enough to speak again, "He could not have revealed it to a more trustworthy group of men. I assure you that your family – and your granddaughter's identity – are under the protection of not only Vaganov, but of the entire Paris police force."

On the mention of Gleb's last name, Maria inhaled sharply and Gleb braced himself. He and Maria never so much as mentioned it – no one did, not since Alexei's birth, and only because it had been necessary at the time. The name was far too taboo and painful. He should have warned them –

Then Maria turned to Lefèvre and simply said, "Thank you," with an incline of her head. Her voice was steady, and Gleb sighed with relief as the atmosphere lightened.

"Well, a toast to the…twice-wed, I suppose?" Géroux suggested. "Where's Durand? Durand! Get over here!"

Durand, who had taken up a seat to watch Alexei sleep, rose, visibly disappointed, to join the group as Allard went to stop a server for some champagne.

Gleb leaned over to the Dowager Empress, a twinge of guilt twisting his stomach. "My apologies," he said to her quietly, so that they alone could hear. "I should have told them not to call me that."

She merely nodded at him. But in her eyes, he thought he could still see the old resentment.

Allard returned with several flutes of champagne for them, flanked by Lily. "A toast! Who wants to make a speech?"

They all glanced at each other.

"How about you, Your Imperial Majesty?" Lily suggested. Gleb backed up slightly. She was evidently tipsy if she thought this would end well...

Maria pursed her lips, but she accepted the proferred glass. She took a sip of the drink, then cleared her throat as she glanced around.

"I always dreamed that my Anastasia would marry a prince one day." She sniffed. "Or an officer, but someone close to the family."

She paused, and when her eyes settled on Gleb, they hardened. He felt tension reignite in the air – she would now say that he, the son of the very man who killed her family, was everything she never wanted for Anya, that he was unwelcome, an unfortunate slight in her perfect plan for her granddaughter. Beside him, Anya stiffened, and Lily finally looked like she was regretting ever asking Maria to speak.

"…I suppose she picked an officer," Maria finished as she raised her glass. "To Anastasia and her…Gleb."

Anya let out a gasping sob and threw herself into her grandmother's arms as Lily practically collapsed, supported only by Allard's hand at her back. Gleb's throat closed with unexpected emotion at hearing his first name coming from Maria's mouth, and he barely registered the champagne being put into his hands.

"That was the nicest thing you ever said to me," he choked out.

Maria rolled her eyes. "Shut up and drink your champagne."

For the first time, Gleb did as she told without a single gripe. The others followed suit, clapping, Anya and Lily with damp eyes.

"I told you: one day," Anya reminded him softly, her face glowing as she finished her drink.

Gleb hid his smile behind the rim of his glass. "We'll see once the champagne is out of her system."

* * *

As the last of the tables was finally cleared, Gleb sat down on the steps that led to the garden, shrugging out of his suit jacket and letting the tiredness hit him as evening turned into night.

His friends had been among the last to leave the reception, and when they did, it was with promises to visit (Durand had actually asked for permission to follow Gleb home every night until Géroux clamped a hand over his mouth) and invites to Anya to join them at the bar some time. Lily had elected to go home at the same time as the men – Gleb suspected it had something to do with Allard being willing to ride with her back to her flat.

Anya had simply laughed when Gleb's face had puckered in distaste as the cab drove away. "Oh Gleb, let them be," she had quipped. "Everyone gets together at weddings. She deserves this."

He thought of Lily sobbing into his shoulder as she reminisced about Popov, and he had conceded. He could always shut Allard up if he tried to talk about her at work.

Instead of returning to their flat, Gleb and Anya had, out of exhaustion, decided to stay the night at Maria's estate. Alexei had already settled in, and they hadn't wanted to risk disturbing him. Anya also hadn't had a decent meal all day, and she was relieved to have someone else do the cooking. While Gleb wasn't enthused about being waited on, the idea of being able to just tumble into bed had been extremely appealing. In fact, even though it was on the early side, he was ready to retire for the night…

The clicking of high-heeled shoes alerted him, and Gleb turned, expecting to see Anya coming to call him into the house. Instead, the sight of Maria, evidently out to inspect the cleaning of her garden, greeted him instead. Awkwardly, he glanced away, fiddling with his ring.

"Anastasia told me why you wanted no part of this wedding," the Dowager Empress remarked.

Gleb stiffened. Why had Anya even bothered? It wasn't as if Maria cared.

"She seemed to think it was important that I know," Maria said, as if in response to his thoughts. The continued clicking of her heels told him she was approaching, until he could see the skirt of her gown out of the corner of his right eye.

"You know, my son married his wife on my birthday," she mused. "I thought it ruined the occasion – I was not fond of her, see."

Gleb snorted. Despite himself, he had to give the Tsar and Tsarina credit for that one.

"I believed she was unsuitable for Nicholas. I believed that she would be his downfall. And so I did everything I could to get him on my side. We battled over him for years…Divided him." Maria's voice shook a little.

"Then came that night...and a decade of nothing. No one to control...no one to argue against…no one to celebrate. I shared in nothing, I was part of nothing...uninvited. Even as the grasping royalty in Paris sought to curry my favor, I was alone."

The grief in her voice moved him to look up at her. She was staring straight ahead into the distance, the light from the lamps illuminating the sorrow that lined her features.

"I used to wonder if things might have ended differently had I withheld my permission for Nicholas to marry Alexandra. The Romanov dynasty might have lived on. But perhaps if _I_ had also behaved differently at the time..." She trailed off, giving way to a crushing silence.

"In the end, I could not be with him…she was," Maria said softly, almost gently. "It became my source of solace when I thought of that night – that with Alexandra there, Nicholas might have known some comfort." She bowed her head, and her words hung in the air as Gleb pondered them.

Perhaps...perhaps he needed to remember that he wasn't the only one who had been seeing ghosts all these years.

Maria looked down and met his gaze. Her eyes were not warm, but they were not cold either. "I have been granted a mercy with Anastasia. I do not wish to repeat my past." Her voice grew steadier. "I told you both before – you are under my protection. My word is not to be taken lightly."

She hedged for a moment; then, with a swirl of her gown, pivoted and started back in the direction of the house. Gleb remained where he was, his gaze following where Maria's had been earlier.

The twinkling lights of Paris beyond the estate. Home. At last.

Love, which he was beginning to understand they had both celebrated today.

Family_. _For years, it had eluded him and Maria both – when he lost his father and Mama, when she had lost her son, a daughter, and her grandchildren. Both of them had proceeded to cling to Anya and Alexei, each believing that it was all they had.

Maybe they were both wrong.

He whirled. "Maria," he called out to her retreating back. She paused at the door, though she did not turn around.

"Thank you for the wedding," he said gruffly. "It was a beautiful ceremony."

He thought he saw her nod, but she said nothing as she swept past the threshold. He picked up his jacket, got to his feet, and headed in the same direction.

As he entered into the warmth of the mansion, Anya came up to him, beaming.

"Where have you two been?" she asked as she threaded her arm through his, looking from him to Maria.

Maria glanced back at him. "Close the door, Gleb."


End file.
